


Dig This

by Arlome



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Archaeology, F/M, MFMM Flashfic Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22405936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlome/pseuds/Arlome
Summary: Waking up this early for workmustbe a crime, right?
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 24
Kudos: 73
Collections: Miss Fisher's Flashfic Challenge Heat 2





	Dig This

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovelies!
> 
> Here's the archaeology au you've all been waiting for (or not, more likely)!
> 
> I've no idea what this is. It's unbetad, that's for sure. Read at your own risk!

They make their sluggish way to the site abominably early as usual, eyes bleary, mouths wide mid-yawn. The Sun crawls upwards into the sky just as slowly, painting the heavens a deep orange and blinding Jack at the wheel.

“Damn!” he curses, shielding his eyes with one palm and trying to steer the heavy car over the bumpy dirt road with the other. “I can’t see a bloody thing!”

Next to him, her khaki hat draped low over her eyes, Phryne stirs and moans in misery.

“Remind me again – why the hell are we up with the sun? Surely getting up this early for work _must_ be a crime?” she sighs and casts her head back to glance at their sleeping crew. Hugh is slumped on Dot’s shoulder, drool trickling from his open mouth; Bert is snoring, Cec’s head is thudding against the window with every bump in the bloody road. Only Mac’s awake, and from what Phryne can see, it’s because she’s rearranging her first aid kit again.

“Because we don’t want to burn to death in this heat?” Jack supplies dryly and hits a group of small rocks. The car jumps and shakes, the occupants groan and curse.

“Are we there yet?” Hugh calls hoarsely from the back seat, his voice rough and unused.

Phryne looks out of the window and stretches, providing Jack with a rather distracting, emphasized view of her lovely assets. He coughs and grips the wheel a little tighter.

“Five more minutes,” she says, releasing the kinks in her neck. “Did you copy today’s area plans, Hugh?”

“I did,” the lad confirms, yawning widely. “I need to take additional elevations today, so I’d love to have the leveler first, if that’s okay.”

“Take it up with Albert, Collins,” Jack grumbles from the driver’s seat. “As long as the elevations are taken and are correct, we don’t care which area wrote theirs in the daily log first.”

Bert grumbles his consent just as the car screeches to a stop at the top of the Tel and the merry company oozes out of the car with the dignity and grace of an elephant in a china shop. One by One they make their way to the boot of the vehicle to start unloading their equipment: six trowels, fifteen buckets, three pickaxes, four shovels, a multitude of brushes. Hugh starts setting the leveler at the foot of his area, with Cec dragging the height bar behind him with very little enthusiasm.

Jack consults his notes as Dot rushes past him to her little field office, papers and stationery in hand. Phryne comes up behind him and leans over his shoulder.

“You think we’ll finally get to that floor level in square A6 today? I’d sell my soul for a nice floor level.”

Her breath is hot in his ear and he shivers, recalling that it was her bed in which he found himself this morning, wearing nothing but a smug smile. Unable to think properly with her so close to him, he mumbles something unintelligible. Naturally, she notices.

“Have I mentioned how hot you look with your notes and that trowel stuck in your back pocket, _Dr Robinson?_ ” Phryne purrs sensually, no doubt remembering their early morning herself.

“ _Dr Fisher_ ,” Jack hisses admonishingly, his eyes darting frantically from team member to team member. “I thought we decided we’re keeping this thing between us a secret for now.” 

“Oh, that’s cute,” a voice drawls from behind and both archaeologists start and turn to regard the interruption. Elizabeth Macmillan, team doctor and excavating volunteer, regards them, unimpressed, with her medical bag slung over one shoulder and a large pickaxe slung over the other. “We all know you’re shagging. Phryne’s not exactly quiet, you know, and everybody here knows your first name, _Dr Robinson_.”

Jack colours and coughs, Phryne throws her head back and laughs. Mac, assured in her victory, smiles sharply at them and heads over to area B, hollering to ask Bert where he wants her for the day.

“It’s really for the best, darling,” Phryne says when they’re left alone and Jack stops choking on his mortification. “We don’t need to sneak around anymore. Isn’t that a relief?”

Jack rubs the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes.

“Can we just survive today, please?” he asks tiredly, unable to look her in the eyes. The thought of his field supervisors and field register _hearing_ him making love to his co-excavation manager is making him a tad dizzy. “I just want to get to that blasted floor level before we’re done for the day. It’s high time we left the Hellenistic stratum behind.”

Phryne touches his arm gently, and he raises his eyes to finally look at her. He’s relieved to find her smiling softly at him.

“I agree. This Tel should, by all account, hold a lovely Persian stratum and I, for one, can’t wait to reach it.”

Jack feels himself relaxing slightly; he bends to pick up a shovel and points towards area A, where Collins is busy shouting elevations at the note-taking Cec.

“Let’s get to it, then, Dr Fisher,” he turns to give her a little self-deprecating smile. “We have quite a lot to do in the next seven hours, before Miss Williams forces us into a session of pottery washing.”

Phryne takes his arm and tugs him forward.

“Dot is a master, Jack! It’s entirely because of her that all the finds are sorted and registered properly; you should be thankful!” she admonishes him playfully and winks.

“Can’t an archaeologist appreciate his field register and _still_ complain about pottery washing?” he bemoans theatrically, his eyes shining despite of the early hour.

Phryne snatches his notes out of his hand and grins mischievously.

“Not unless he knows what’s good for him.”

Jack sighs and bows a little, the corners of his mouth tugging downwards.

“I yield, then, Dr Fisher,” he intones. “I shall accept my fate without complaining.”

“Good man,” Phryne says, pushing his notes against his chest. “You wash your pottery shards well, Dr Robinson, and I just might let you ravish me after lunch.”

She smiles wickedly and walks away, her black hair shining in the rising sun, and Jack allows himself a slow smile. Suddenly, this day is looking better and better.

Now, if only they can reach that blasted floor level in square A6.


End file.
